Metal Wings
by WizardsGirl
Summary: DZ2's Twice-Blessed Half-Blood Challenge! The Potter Luck has an origin, as does their strength in Transfiguration. Harry's always been faster then most when it came to running from Dudley, but it takes a single letter to set off a new path for him to blaze. The future is shadowed with the fire of a forge, and it takes a thief to steal a brighter future for all.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** I'm lagging on For Want of Family (Though, honestly, it was bound to happen) so, here.

Enjoy a maybe-Oneshot.

(Flings fic at you)

**Challenge Owner: **DZ2

**Challenge:** Harry the Twice-Blessed Half-Blood

**Plot:** Every Half-Blood has one god-parent, this we know: however, Harry is different because of one reason: through the ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian

**Rules:**

Light, Grey or Dark Harry **(Grey)**

Harry's first god-parent MUST be one of the twelve while others can be any of the Greek/Roman Mythological forces: gods, deities, divines etc **(Done)**

Harry and Percy MUST have different views of right and wrong **(Harry: The Gods Fucked up and I'll have to do everything myself, frustrated view. Percy: The Gods Fucked Up but I'll try and fix it while not angering them)**

Either Thalia, the Di Angelos or Clarisse must be allied with Harry - any others are up to the reader **(Haven't decided, leaning towards Clarisse)**

Whoever Harry's god-parent is MUST break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry - they do this because of Halloween and they don't want to lose him again **(Done)**

If Harry is Dark, Luke MUST see Harry as the new leading force of the New Olympus and pledge to serve him instead of Kronos **(Doesn't Apply)**

When Harry is 'determined' it must be because of a canon Hogwarts event e.g. defending the Stone, the troll, the Basilisk, the spiders etc **(Will See Next Chapter, if there is one)**

Any pairings are welcome EXCEPT Harry/Hermione and Harry/Percy **(Done)**

Tom and Dumbledore must both feel wary about Harry when he comes into his god-like powers **(Done)**

The Horcrux is destroyed - unless Harry's 'other' god-parents use it to 'determine' him as theirs (see below) **(You'll See if I continue)**

Even though he leaves Hogwarts for CHB or his own dwellings, Harry must still keep in touch with his friends **(Problem Solved, if I continue)**

At least one of Harry's friends - or a redeemed friend if you want to use someone like Draco or Severus - must be a Half-Blood **(You'll see if I continue)**

Sirius and Remus do not abandon him **(Always nice to see)**

**Guidelines: **

Powerful Harry **(Accepted)**

Harry and Percy as enemies

Immortal Harry

Master of Death Harry

The force that determines Harry is a primordial e.g. Thanatos, Erebus, Nyx, Chaos etc

Harry's god-parent - his main one - is one of the Big Three

Lily and/or James were that particular god in human form

Others of the HP universe are Half-Bloods **(Accepted)**

A prophecy being made about Harry

Slash **(Accepted, if I continue)**

The PJ/Heroes of Olympus universe being diverted from canon due to Harry's involvement e.g. Harry goes after the Lightning Bolt and keeps it or Harry helps Luke claim the Fleece and destroys Cronus **(Accepted, you'll see if I continue)**

Kronos - somehow - is Harry's god-parent - so a Titan-Harry could be allowed too

**Forbidden: **

Harry remaining the naive, malleable wizard/demigod people wish him to be

Harry's actual god-parent being anything other than Olympian/Roman

Dumbledore and Tom as allies of Harry

Sirius and Remus abandoning Harry

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Prologue**_

Centuries ago, the Roman Goddess Fortuna, Goddess of Luck, Blessed a mortal man who helped her when she was injured while in mortal form. He and all males of his line would bear the burden of Luck. They would experience the Good and the Bad, the extremes and degrees of both. It was the least she could do, for she could not Bless him with only one or the other, for the Balance _must_ be kept.

And so, the man went on, and his Family became known by the name Fortunatus, the Fortunate.

The name, however, became lost in time as centuries passed. The Fortunatus Family became the Felixus, then the Grypens, and then they moved on from Rome.

They became the Gryffons, the Gryffindors, the Findons, the Peverells.

Finally, they became the Potter Family, and thus they remained for centuries.

And still, the Goddess of Luck's Blessing lived in them.

It was this Luck that drew the attention of the God of Fire, the Forge, and Volcanoes, Lord Vulcan. He watched the family, who had grown to become strong magic users, Blessed through one of their female ancestors by Hecate, with the gift of Magic, before Fortuna met that mortal so long before. Often he would take on the form of a crippled old blacksmith known only by the name of Valcus, and taught their more-talented children the 'magic' of what came to be known as Transfiguration, and tricks of the forge.

He continued to do so over the years, until the day that there were only daughters born of the Potter line, their Blessing of Luck diminishing with the lack of males born. Desperate for her Family to continue on, the youngest daughter of the last Potter Lord, who had grown old and frail, called upon Lord Vulcan, and begged for his assistance in strengthening their line. The God, having grown deeply fond of the talented Family over the centuries, agreed to assist the woman, one Selene Jasmine Potter, in baring a son.

Charlus Valcus Potter was born, healthy and strong, with an immense gift for Transfiguration, fire spells, and an affection for working with metals and building things. The Potter Luck returned, stronger than it had been in centuries. Lord Vulcan watched over his Demigod son when he could, as he had for his ancestors, and occasionally, he would once more appear as a harmless, crippled blacksmith, and teach the lad a trick or two with metal or magic, whichever the boy wanted.

Charlus married Dorea Black, the love of his life, and together they had a son named James Charlus Potter. James brought with his birth the Potter Luck and his Demigod Father's strength in Transfiguration, but he also brought an undisiplined attitude that Lord Vulcan disapproved of. He did not show himself to the young mortal. He did not teach him the wonders of the forge or the power and responsibility of _true_ Transfiguration. He did not acknowledge his grandson, as James's actions spoke loudly of his undisciplined mentalities, preferring pranks and bullying rather than study and focus.

Vulcan stopped watching over him by the time he was fourteen, and would not be reminded of the family again for many years.

Because of this, he would not know that James Potter would change after witnessing the near-death of his rival and fellow-student, Severus Snape, at the jaws of his friend Remus Lupin, because of the cruelty of his best friend and cousin, Sirius Black. Lord Vulcan would not witness James focussing upon his studies, nor his determination to train and dedicate himself to becoming stronger. Would not witness the young man become a Lord with the murder of his parents. He would not witness his grandson's fights within the Wizarding War, nor his joining of the highly disciplined ranks of the Wizarding Aurors. He would not witness James' marriage of the beautiful, fiery mortal named Lily Evans.

The Roman God of the Forge would not heed the couples call upon the Gods for a child, when it was discovered that, through an injury in the line of duty, James could not produce an heir.

Lord Vulcan did not hear the plea...

But the Greek God, Hermes, did.

Harry James Potter was born on July 31st 1990, at 11:55 PM, with his mothers green eyes, and the messy black hair, upturned eyebrows, and a small, sharp nose of the God of Messengers, Travellers, and Thieves.

And, on October 31st, 1991, James and Lily Potter would be murdered, and their son hidden from his Father's view, the Potter Luck rearing its powerful, ageless head.

He would not be found again, until a decade later, when a certain letter was sent, and two Gods once more found a reason to take interest in the Potter Line.

**A/N:** Really short, yes, but it's the background taken care of, at least... I may or may not continue on this, my Muses are being fussy, I dunno. (Shrugs)

Anyways, review, please!


	2. Chapter 1: The Letter

**A/N:** Meh, thought I'd throw in the next chapter while I'm plugging along

Enjoy!

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Chapter One**_

Harry Potter was mystified.

Someone had sent him a letter.

_No _one, _ever_, sent him _anything_.

It even had his Cupboard on it! And the address! And everything!

It was for _him_!

A thrill went through him and, without a thought, the almost-eleven-year-old slipped the large, fancy envelope beneath his shirt, tucking it under the thin, tattered belt he had around his lower ribs, which held all the objects he wanted to sneak away. The large hand-me-down clothes his relatives so "_generously_" gave him, were really a blessing in disguise.

He could hide all sorts of things under them, without making a bulge or odd shape.

He'd once managed to hide _four_ dinner rolls in his shirt, just before his Uncle Vernon had sent him to his Cupboard, and no one had noticed!

But that was neither here, nor there. Harry quickly returned to the kitchen, handed over the rest of the mail, and washed his dishes.

"I'm going to go for a walk," he informed his relatives softly; Vernon grunted, and Aunt Petunia gave him a dirty look, but neither said anything, which had actually been a recent developement. It had only been two years since his relatives had started becoming, well, _milder_, and Harry had found a calling he hadn't known he'd have.

His Uncle Vernon's watch had broken, and he'd left it on the table and stormed out. Harry, in a fit of boredom after finishing his chores, had taken the broken watch and taken it apart all over the table. He'd been lost in the mechanics, in the work, and he hadn't heard his Aunt come in, hadn't heard her shouting at him. _Something_, he didn't know what, had kept her from trying to touch him, but it hadn't stopped her shouting. She'd only stopped when, right in front of her, he had neatly and quickly put the watch, now fixed and better than before, back together with a hum. He had left the watch on the table and wandered off into the back yard to work in the garden.

That night, while he was in his Cupboard, his Aunt and Uncle had talked in hushed whispered in the kitchen, and, the next day, they had cut down his chores and given him several broken appliances and games, and watched as he took apart, fixed, and improved every single one of them.

It hadn't gotten him out of the Cupboard, but he was getting paid for his work in food and some liberties.

Such as being allowed out to walk around the neighborhood without fear of being beaten when he got back to Number Four.

And walking was what he was currently doing, excitement making his heart pound as the strange texture of the letter hidden under his shirt rubbed against his skin. _He had gotten a letter!_ A letter of his very own! And, once he reached his Secret Place, he would get to _read_ it!

And, as he thought that, he arrived.

Number Seven on Bailey Street had been a nice house, once, just like all the houses in the area. A fire when Harry was seven, however, had gutted most of it and no one had bought it since. There was always talk of demolishing it, but no one seemed to want to pay for it. It was labeled as 'condemned' and that was that.

It was now Harry's Secret Place, where he hid and worked on his little projects, and no one bothered him, not even his cousin Dudley and his little gang! ...Though, he didn't know why, as the other boys often "Dared" one another to go into dangerous or off-limits places. Still, Harry was grateful for his little safe haven.

Slipping passed the charred remains of what had once been a home, the short, thin ten-year-old made his way on silent feet to the backyard. There, hidden in the wild, tall grass, black soot, and broken glass, he found the window into the basement. With a gentle push, the window opened without a sound, despite having been locked from the inside just moments before. With a wiggle, the boy neatly slid through the narrow opening, and fell lightly into the dark, landing on the smoke-scented and stained desk directly beneath it. Pulling the window closed behind him, Harry hopped off the desk and moved through the almost-pitch-black room with the ease of memorization.

In the far corner, he pulled a simple cord that was hanging there. With a low thrum, several lights turned on, starting dim and becoming slowly brighter, until the room was thrown into stark relief. There, Harry paused to observe his haven with a pleased, smug smile.

All around the room were his projects and trophies. Jewelry, watches, toys, blankets, cans of food, books and other things. There was a generator in the corner he had made from bits of metal and car parts stolen from various garages. An impressive array of tools were hidden around the room, and the lights hooked onto the walls were carefully-made from lightbulbs and the parts of a broken toaster Number Two had thrown away, a toy robot Dudley's friend Piers had told him he could have in a rare moment of pity, and a computer mouse he'd found on one of his forays into the neighbors homes at night (it was ridiculously easy, when nothing stayed locked for him, and no one ever heard him moving).

Hurrying over to the loan chair he'd put back together, Harry dug the letter out from under his shirt, heart pounding as he scooted up to the desk and carefully pulled up the weird wax seal on the back, ignoring the strange symbol there for the moment. Carefully shaking the letter out of its envelope, he began to read, eyebrows rising

"'_Dear Mister Potter'_," he muttered aloud, frowning as he went along. "'_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_'? What?"

"Rather strange, those Wizards," a mans voice announced nonchalantly from behind him; Harry spun around, scrambling onto his feet, crouching in his chair and read to lunge away, eyes huge and face pale, spooked. "I never understood why they were always so set on the old-fashioned, just because of _tradition_," the man snorted, rolling his blue eyes, before staring right back at Harry. He had messy black hair, more curly than Harry's was, and lightly tanned skin, dressed in a pair of soft, faded jeans and a white shirt, worn, comfortable brown running shoes on his feet, with the faintest of wing designs on the sides in silver.

But, what caught Harry's bewildered, frightened attention, was that the man had _his_ eyebrows and nose, and the smile that lit up his bizarrely familiar face, was the same he saw in the mirror after he'd stolen something and almost got caught.

"Man, you're cuter then I thought you'd be," The man told him, still grinning, and Harry found himself sitting back a bit, completely bewildered and staring at the man with confusion.

"Who are you and how'd you get in here?" He asked uncertainly, pointing at his window. "That's the only way in, 'less you want to put a hole in th' ceiling." The man blinked, blue eyes gleaming brighter in the clear lights of Harry's hideout, and his smile became something warmer, fonder, something that Harry had seen his Aunt use on his cousin, but had never, in his memory, been aimed at him.

"Ah, well, that's where things get a little complicated," the man told him easily before, with a snap of his fingers, a comfortable-looking dark purple arm chair appeared behind him, and he perched in it gracefully, grinning at the ten-year-old as he gaped. "I am Hermes, God of Messengers, Travelers, Thieves," here, he winked at Harry, and grinned mischievously, "Roads and Merchants, and am the Messenger of the Gods, but, besides all that, Harry James Potter..." And, suddenly, the grin was gone, and in it's place was that smile from before, the soft, warm one, that made something in Harry's chest _hurt_ and _yearn_ and _want_.

"I am also your father."

**A/N:** I've decided that, to keep this slow-working fic going, I'm going to keep to short chapters.

Sorry, but, yeah (Shrugs) This fic is being a bitch, but, there you go. It's going to continue, just slowly.

Ta-Da


	3. Chapter 2: Options

**A/N:**

Half-assing my way downtown

posting fast

reviews pass

and I'm bored now...

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Chapter Two**_

"So, wait," Harry said slowly, perched on the roof of some building in _New York_, as in _America_, chewing thoughtfully on a large, soft pretzel that he'd managed to snatch while his... Father? Dad. While his _Dad_ had been showing off, popping him all over.

"My Mom and her husband wanted a baby, but James couldn't make one anymore," Harry said aloud; Hermes hummed in agreement, munching happily on a corndog. "So, they did some old ritual thing, asking _all_ the Gods who heard, for a child?" Hermes swallowed his current bite and nodded again.

"It was a stupid ritual, you know," the God informed his son blithely. "In the old days, such a thing caused _dozens_ of half-Monsters to be born, and arguments between Gods of the different Pantheons because so-and-so wanted to answer but such-and-such thought that _they_ should answer.. Well, ridiculously complicated story short, the ritual was 'lost', hidden within the Goblin Nation, where your mother, _clever_ girl by the way, your Lily, well, _she_ found the ritual by coincidence, or intervention, I was never quite sure..." He hummed, and took another bite of his corndog, snapping his fingers and making a six-pack of Red Creme Soda to appear, waving them at Harry as the God leaned back, looking out over the city with cheerful disinterest.

Grinning, Harry took one of the offered drinks, and took a deep gulp.

"So, why'd _you_ answer?" the ten-year-old asked him curiously; Hermes shrugged easily.

"She was very pretty," he admitted without a hint of modesty; Harry burst out into disbelieving laughter, while the mischievous God grinned slyly. "Besides, I was interested! It had been _centuries_ since someone was desperate enough to use that old ritual." As Harry continued to laugh, Hermes' grin turned fond, and he threw an arm around the boys shoulders, pulling on him until Harry obligingly scooted over to lean against his side while the God hugged him close. Harry's laughter slowly quieted down, and the two sat in comfortable silence, looking out at the busy city.

"...So, what now?" Harry asked, once he'd finished both his pretzel and soda, absently reaching for another drink as he did so.

"Well," Hermes started slowly, quietly, keeping his eyes on the constant flow of movement dozens of stories below them. "There are, really, two major choices for you, Harry James," he told the boy seriously; Harry looked up at him, blinking curiously.

"Option one," the God told him, "is that you accept that school invitation, and got to learn Magic at the same place your Mother and James did. This is fine, I don't mind if you go, it's your life, you can walk your own path," the God quickly told the boy, tightening his one-armed hug briefly with a flash of that warm, soft smile Harry was becoming addicted to having. "I just want you to make an informed decision. Going to the Magical World _will_ make you strong. It will be very hard, people will love you one minute then hate you the next, because of this," he told the boy, tapping on the scar on Harry's forehead, which actually _hissed_ at him the rude little thing! "This is a mark that the last Dark Lord left on you, when he murdered your mortal parents. The spell he used is notorious for its ability to kill _every_ living thing it touches... Well," he corrected himself, seemingly amused. "Every living thing that isn't related to two Gods and Blessed by two others, of course." Harry stared at him, confused.

"What now?" He asked; Hermes shrugged, and squinted at him a bit.

"Well, you're my son, directly, but since I possessed James to get Lily pregnant with you, you have _his_ genes as well... Not that Gods actually _have_ genetic coding, as we technically don't have _genes_ but, anyways, _he_ was apparently a Legacy, otherwise known as the descendant of a Demigod... From the way he smelled, it was both a recent Demigod in his line, and probably one of the Romans. Very strict, no-nonsense bloodline, but not too harsh. Actually," he muttered, seemingly distracted, "I'm pretty sure I know who, because only two Gods smell even faintly of Sulphur, and it _definitely_ was Pluto... Thoughts for another time."

"And the Blessed business?" Harry demanded; Hermes waved his hand dismissively.

"All Magicals are Blessed somewhere in their line by the Goddess Hecate. Sometimes the Blessing goes dormant, only to pop up in a line that hasn't seen magic in its blood for centuries, and those are what the Magical World call 'Muggleborns'. But, anyways, that just means that you've twice the Blessing, as Renewed Blood mixing with Old Blood always gives the child stronger magic. And, from the look of your Father's line, all the males were Blessed by something... Looks like someone in your ancestry got Blessed with Luck by the Roman Goddess Fortuna. Feels twitchy, though, and it's _old_, so don't be surprised if your Luck shifts to extreme degrees before you reach puberty." He shrugged.

"So, I've got the _blood_ of two Gods in me, and the _Blessing_ of two others?" Harry asked for clarification; Hermes nodded, then waved his hand again with a shrug.

"Yes, but, anyways, the Wizarding World," he firmly returned to their conversation. "Because of that scar, which _is_ Cursed, by the way, well, you survived their Always Deadly Curse, and are now a hero... So, yeah, fun," he deadpanned, and Harry snorted, drinking his second can of soda while he kicked his feet against the wall absently.

"Now, Option Two you can choose, is to got to Camp Half-Blood," the God told him, before shrugging. "You can technically goto Camp Jupiter, but your Granddad has to Determine, or Acknowledge, you for that. But because of the mixture of Roman and Greek, which is even because Hecate and I are Greek, while Fortuna and your Gramps are Roman, you'll be able to see through the magic hiding the Roman Demigods from the Greek... This is getting far more complicated then I meant it to be," he added apologetically, dragging a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh, while Harry shrugged and handed him a can of soda.

"So, go learn magic with a bunch of old-fashioned gossips who will look at me and see a celebrity," Harry summarized neatly, leaning back a bit to look up at his Dad. "Or goto a Demigod Training Camp, where I will be taught to kill monsters, and where I could be discriminated against from my Roman-Greek Blood, if Granddad ever deigns to Determine me... About right?" He asked; Hermes nodded, grinning brightly.

"Good, you're clever, I like that," he informed the boy cheerfully. "Dull people are _boring_." Harry snorted, before hesitantly reaching up and touching his scar, frowning uncertainly.

"Can you get rid of this?" He asked hesitantly; Hermes blinked, before turning sideways to peer at the scar intently for several seconds.

"...I can," he admitted reluctantly. "I'll need to ask a favor of someone, though," he grumbled, pouting, before he sighed as Harry peered up at him hopefully. "He's not going to let me live this down for _centuries_," he complained to himself, before urging Harry to his feet, the boy automatically grabbing what remained of the sodas and hiding them neatly under his shirt, where they seemingly disappeared from view.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, bewildered, and Hermes sighed and, with a brief stomp of his feet, the wings on his shoes flowed out, glowing bright, silvery white as they were called into existence, flapping softly to warm up.

"To the Underworld," was all Hermes told him before, with a flash of silver-white light, the two disappeared, leaving only the empty cans they'd enjoyed, behind.

**A/N:** Here, enjoy, gonna go eat a cupcakes, I made them earlier, bye~


	4. Chapter 3: The Underworld

**A/N:** And now, for no other reason than that I love the song, go look up _**Girl In A Country Song**_ on Youtube and watch the video, for it is hilarious and true.

That is all.

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Chapter Three**_

The Underworld was warm. And made up of lots of blacks, grays, and reds, with a pale green back-drop that made it seems sort of like a bad movie.

The massive, three-headed Dog was a nice touch, though.

"Hey, pup!" Hermes greeted the massive dog while Harry eyed it with interest. _Something_ about it made him want to pet it and keep it close, and the dog whined happily at them, all six eyes bright and stubby tail wagging, doggy grins on display. It looked very strange, in all honesty, and not because of the multiple heads and form that was at _least_ six stories high.

It's heads looked like a mix between a Labrador and a Pitbull, while its body was more like a Staffordshire or Bulldog. Its fur was a uniform gray, with just the faintest traces of black brindle. It's eyes were a pale gray, gleaming ominously even while it seemed so happy to see them.

"Harry, meet Cerberus. Cerberus, meet Harry," Hermes introduced; Cerberus cocked all three of his heads to the right and stopped grinning, eyeing Harry with interest, while Harry did the same. Cautiously, Harry stepped forward, and held up a hand; the head on the far left leaned down and towards him, and sniffed Harry's, frankly, minuscule limb, all but sucking it _into_ his nose, before he pulled back. Slowly, the dog heads all grinned again, stub tail wagging, and nudged at Harry with his middle head. Harry cautiously patted his snout, which was bigger than he was tall, and sent an uncertain smile to his Dad.

"Okay, pup, my kid and I have to go see Hades, alright?" Hermes told the dog, reaching forward and scratching Cerberus on the chin, making the dog groan happily. After a few seconds, the dog stood at full height and stilled, still grinning, while Hermes took one of Harry's shoulders in hand and guided the ten-year-old under the dog and through the gate he guarded.

"What was that about?" Harry asked his Dad as they walked towards what _looked_ like a giant castle made of obsidian and lava. "I mean, I don't even _like_ dogs?" Hermes chuckled at Harry's confusion, and wrapped the Demigod into a one-armed hug.

"Ah, my cute little son, but Cerberus isn't just _any_ dog," he declared smugly, and smirked down at the ten-year-old with bright-eyed mischief. "He's a _guard dog_ and who, exactly, is the patron God of Guard Dogs and shepherds?" Harry blinked slowly, before an equally slow, disbelieving grin curled his lips.

"You?" He asked; Hermes smirk turned into a sly grin.

"And _who_ is my son?" He asked; Harry's grin widened.

"Me," he replied; Hermes shook the boy gently with a laugh.

"_Exactly_, kiddo, _exactly_, so what is there for you to fear from Guard Dogs? They'll be putty in you hands, my boy, and you _do_ know what to do with putty, yes?" Harry blinked, grin edged with confusion.

"Play with it?" He asked; Hermes shrugged.

"I don't know, I'm a God. I've never dealt with putty, it's why I asked." Harry's grin disappeared into a completely deadpan expression.

"Dad. No," was all he said, while Hermes just grinned at him and nodded at the skeleton-guards decked out in armor, as they opened the large, ominous doors of the castle, before the God grabbed Harry by the wrist and began to all but drag the young boy through the impressive (if slightly tacky, in Harry's opinion) halls, passed more skeleton soldiers, while the God began to call out in a loud, obnoxious, sing-song voice,

"Oh _Uncle~_! Uncle _Hades~_! It's _me, Hermes~_! I brought you a _present~_!"

"Oi!" Harry sputtered, digging his feet in and glaring up at his widely grinning Dad. "I am _not_ a bloody present, an' if you're tryin' to exchange me for gettin' rid of the scar, I'll kick you so hard I won't have to worry about younger siblings for another _century_."

"You're so _cute_ when you're angry, I should definitely mess with you more often," Hermes declared brightly; Harry growled as they entered what appeared to be a sitting room/library, with a massive, roaring fireplace and large comfy chairs. A man was sitting there, dressed in a black net shirt over a silver tank top with black jeans decorated with silver chains, much like Harry had seen some of the older 'punk' boys around Surrey had taken to wearing. He had messy, spiky black hair and black scruff that was beginning to turn into a beard. Dark, slate-gray eyes glared at Hermes in mild annoyance, and tanned skin sat strangely, when the darkness of the Underworld should have bleached it pale and clammy.

"_What_," the man drawled in a deep voice, "are _you_ doing here, Hermes?" He caught sight of the still scowling Harry, who was leaning back against the God's grip. "Oh, and you brought one of your spawn, how _delightful_," the man drawled with heavy sarcasm, grimacing at the sight of Harry, even though his eyes had narrowed in faint curiosity.

"Now, now, Uncle Hades!" Hermes complained playfully, but Harry had noticed a slight tension to his shoulders, which, in turn, had Harry, tensing, watching his Dad cautiously. It had been his experience that, when two tense and annoyed adults were in a small room together, especially to _men_, that violence and shouting was on the horizon.

He wanted to know _exactly_ when he should run, and when he should hide.

Suddenly, Hermes was dragging him forward, like he was no more than a misbehaving puppy in a harness, and lifted him up by the sudden grip he had under Harry's arms, holding him up like some parody scene from _The Lion King_ and Harry was Simba.

"I bring you a gift!" Hermes chirped again; Harry found himself sharing a completely deadpan look with Hades.

"Can I kick him?" Harry asked the God bluntly; Hades arched an eyebrow. "This is the second time he's called me that. I am _not_ a _presant_." Hades snorted and stood from his chair with the ominous twinkling of chains, and glided across the floor in dark-leather steel-toed boots. He caught Harry's face in his hand, and the boy had to silence the instinctive and self-taught (via Dudley and Gang) reflex to bite the God. Carefully, Hades brushed the ten-year-old's bangs to the side, and leaned forward to peer at the scar resting there. After a few seconds, his lips peeled back from his straight, white teeth, and the slate-gray of his eyes turned a gleaming, inhuman platinum. A chill gripped Harry's very being and, instinctively, he cringed back towards his Dad, dropping his eyes and turning his head away, unnerved by the reaction of the King of the Underworld.

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle_," Hades hissed, serpent-like, but Harry couldn't help but cry out and clasp his hands to his ears in pain, as the God's voice had shifted, and become something _no_ human should _ever_ hear. It was like a voice made purely of the crushing power of the earth, the molten core boiling deeply within, the softest edge of roots before they hook onto you and drain you of nutrients to feed their owner, the hardening of precious stones as they're formed, the erosion of stone as time passes, utterly and completely beyond human comprehension, all bound together in a single voice...

Hermes had quickly moved Harry back to the floor, and the ten-year-old had buried himself in the Messenger God's side, shuddering and keeping his eyes shut tight, hands covering his ears in a futile attempt to keep the low, thrumming _rage_ of the God from his ears, from his very_ being_.

"_Hades_," Hermes spoke, and there was nothing playful or sly or cocky in his voice. Instead, there was steel, covering granite and fire, a warning to _calm down or else_. And, without a blink, the thrumming _power_ in the room slithered away, like a snake that had decided that the prey it had found wasn't worth the energy, and Harry was being gently pulled from his Dad's side, as Hermes knelt directly in front of him and tried to coax him into opening his eyes. After a few minutes, Harry obeyed, hands pulling reluctantly from his ears, glancing nervously at Hades, who had moved away to gulp a glowing, golden liquid from a shot glass and glower at the flames.

"Though my head was goin' to pop," Harry muttered, shaking himself like a wet dog, shuddering; Hermes smiled hesitantly, eyeing him carefully before his smile relaxed and he pulled the ten-year-old into a hug, which Harry returned, feeling suddenly tired. He sighed softly and, once Hermes released him again, pulled one of the sodas from before out from under his shirt, earning a bemused blink from the Messenger God, who then shrugged and turned to face Hades.

"So?" He asked; the Underworld King grunted, finished off his second glass, before turning and stalking towards them with a huff.

"That _abomination_," the dark God growled with a hard glare at Harry's forehead, and the ten-year-old fought his instinctive urge to hide from the look, settling for a wince, "isn't a _curse_ but a _Horcrux_." Hermes hissed a sharp breath, his blue eyes blazing with the same, inhuman light as Hades, turning an ultraviolet gleam that made Harry twitch with the feeling of the air itself tightening, his heart starting to beat too fast. Faster than his uncle, however, Hermes reigned it in, though his eyes continued to faintly glow, and the wings on his shoes came into being to fluff themselves tensely.

"I'll get rid of it, but it's an extremely small fragment," Hades informed them with a dark glower, pacing about the room. "That means that there are more, at _least_ six others. Hermes," he growled, spinning around to look hard at the Messenger God. "As much as I _loathe_ bringing my brothers into _anything_..." He grimaced and, grim-faced, Hermes nodded seriously.

"I'll tell them," he told the other God somberly, before hesitating. "After," he decided, reaching down and placing a strong, comforting hand on Harry's shoulder as the ten-year-old looked up at him with wide, confused eyes, beginning to feel frightened. "I'll stay here until it's properly extracted." Hades huffed but nodded without qualms, hesitating.

"This will make you feel exhausted, child," the God told Harry coolly, eyeing him. "What you have in your forehead is a piece of a _soul_, and the fool who _dared_ create it shall suffer an _eternity_ in the Fields of Punishment." At the end statement, an ominous miasma of shadows swirled about the God, and his eyes once more glowed bright platinum, like disks of precious metal held _just right_ under a light, pupils and sclera suddenly looking like the black, blank space of a light with no hint of light. Harry shuddered, and nodded quickly, to show he understood. Though, the idea that someone put their _soul_ in his _head_ left him feeling very...

Violated.

"I won't be able to destroy all the pieces here," Hades continued, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. "But, when I take that one from you, I will be tapping into your magic, which has been tainted by its presence... Do not worry, child," he continued with a small grimace at the idea of _comforting_ the Demigod, whose wide green eyes peered up at him nervously. "Your magic is still _yours_, but I have no doubt you shall find yourself better attuned to battle magic and the darker side of magic. The reason you shall feel exhausted, and most probably pass out, is because I shall be removing the connection that has grown between your soul and _that_, as well as the use of your magic to at least _locate_ the other pieces. Do you understand?" Harry nibbled his lip, and took a long drink of his soda, staring at it in his hand.

"What'll happen when I'm unconscious?" Harry asked cautiously; the two Gods eyed one another, and Hades arched an eyebrow, while Hermes shook his head, and smiled that special smile down at Harry, who smiled shyly back.

"I'll be taking you with me to Olympus, where you'll recover in my room there, alright?" He asked; Harry nodded slowly, and took a deep breath, turning to Hades.

"I'm ready, then," he told the God, and Hermes took his soda, promptly taking a drink without a single drop of hesitance. Harry would have given him a pouty glare at the action, but he suddenly found himself surrounded by Hades power, and fingers that were hard as diamonds dragged against his scar. A horrendous pain echoed throughout his entire body. It felt like someone was taking every one of his bones and slowly bending them, until they snapped, before trying to mash them together again, and used a shoddy welding job to hold them there.

There was a sucking sensation, once the pain seemingly disappeared, and Harry could barely breathe past it. His mouth, which had been open wide to scream, was now open that way because he was gasping for breath, reaching up to claw at his chest, only to find his hands being firmly restrained by the shadows. He wondered, in a vague, fuzzy way, if this was what it felt like to be water in a tub, once the plug was pulled.

As the sucking sensation became too much, and unconscious hooked its claws in him, the last thing Harry saw was two glowing disks of pure platinum, surrounded by the darkest and deepest of shadows, and then...

Nothing.

**A/N:** Here, I'm working on the next chapter to For Want of Family, but I'm also busy packing, enjoy the chapter (Tosses chapter at y'all)


	5. Chapter 4: Olympus

**A/N:**

Meow

Nyan

Bao

Mew

Imma kitty cat

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Chapter Four**_

Harry woke sleeping somewhere open and bright, on something soft, feeling like someone had stuck nails through his entire head, poured salt in the holes, and made him drink an entire bottle of mustard.

It was not, all together, a pleasant experience.

He'd barely managed a hoarse, pained groan, when a large warm hand was on his head, gently carding through his limp and probably greasy hair.

"Shh," someone murmured, and Harry vaguely recognized the voice as Hermes, his Dad, but, for the life of him, the ten-year-old couldn't open his eyes and _check_, and he couldn't get more than another of those pained groans from his throat. "It's okay, Harry, I've got you," Hermes murmured, and pressed a small glass to Harry's lips, urging him to drink, and Harry could do nothing but obey.

The taste of warm treacle tart flooded his tongue as he swallowed the liquid tipped into his mouth, and for a moment, the boy was thoroughly flummoxed. It tasted _just_ like his favorite treat, but it was a _liquid_ and the texture versus the taste was throwing his brain through a loop, even as the nausea and pain began to quickly dull. Cautiously, Harry blinked open his eyes, squinting uncertainly up at the blurry shape of what he _thought_ was his Dad. Gentle fingers slipped his glasses onto his face, and the boy blinked rapidly as his vision came into sharp focus, and he found himself looking into the gentle, concerned face of Hermes.

"Hey there, kiddo," his Dad greeted softly; Harry smiled up at him.

"Hello," he murmured back, absentmindedly scraping his tongue against his teeth to try and get the remembered flavor off it. "Did everything work out?" Hermes nodded, and stroked a hand through the boy's hair.

"My Uncle was able to pull the fragment out with relatively little problems, though you may find yourself with headaches off and on for the next week or two…" Harry nodded, and carefully sat up to look around, Hermes sitting back with an amused smile as the young boy eyed the extravagance that was the God's rooms on Olympus.

"…I want to steal everything," the boy told him bluntly, eying the random, tasteful collection of objects; Hermes laughed brightly and ruffled his hand through Harry's hair again, mussing the black locks as he stood with a stretch.

"If you can manage to get anything past _me_, kiddo, you're welcome to try," the God told him with a smirk. "God of _Thieves_, remember? You can't just walk away with anything of mine…" Harry narrowed his eyes and grinned slyly at the challenge, and Hermes grinned right back, almost baring his teeth as the light glinted off of them brightly. "Of course, the other Gods are free game." Harry's grin grew, green eyes lighting up with eager excitement.

"Of course," he replied, and Hermes chuckled, reaching forward and ruffling the Demigod's hair once more, before helping out of the lavish, large bed and onto his feet, pointing at a pair a high-end tan converse shoes set next to the bedside table (which was littered in well-crafted crystal statues of beautiful woman and "mythological" creatures, a gold chain with a key on it, and a jaw that held some strange glowing plant).

"Those are yours," the God told Harry, who was eagerly pouncing on the shoes, eying them and turning them this way and that as he examined them with gleeful pleasure. "If you tell them _Mýga_…" At the strange word, which resonated oddly in Harry's head and translated itself to the word _fly_, the shoes glowed silver, and white wings appeared, fluttering hopefully out from the heels, the tips gleaming silver and a faint silverfish dust drifting from them, disappearing before it could land on anything.

"_Wicked_," Harry breathed, staring at the flying shoes, utterly enthralled while Hermes grinned smugly as he watched his son's face.

"I know, right?" He asked cheerfully. "And to get them back to normal, just tell them _Ypóloipo_, alright?" Harry nodded, mentally shrugging off the immediately translated _rest_ that echoed in his mind as the wings fluttered one last time before disappearing back "into" the shoes. Quickly, Harry tugged them on, eager to try them out but, before he could, Hermes tapped him on the head with two fingers.

"Best leave that for another time, kiddo, before your Granddaddy get's his dick in a twist over you staying here much longer, and I wanna take you on a tour of Olympus," the God urged and, sighing wistfully, Harry nodded in agreement. His disappointment was quickly forgotten as Hermes guided him around the almost overwhelmingly gaudy (_Tacky_, was, yet again, Harry's first impression) Halls of Olympus.

(And, if some of the smaller trinkets disappeared from each room, especially those reserved for the other Gods, neither of them would speak of it.)

"And now we're going to go through the Throne Room, before I have to take you back to England," Hermes announced cheerfully as the two of them entered the grand room, only to pause as they found it occupied by the other Gods, most of whom were now staring at the two of them with narrowed eyes, _especially_ one who Harry immediately knew was Zeus, his throne made of what Harry _knew_ was pure platinum, sitting in the middle of the semi-circle of other Thrones. He was an intimidating man, currently wearing the guise of a six-foot tall man with broad shoulders wearing a sharp, navy-blue pinstripe suit with a steel gray tie, his electric blue eyes narrowed and sharp and his shoulder-length black hair was thick with a slight wave, while his black-and-gray beard was neatly trimmed. As he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, Harry found himself meekly slipping behind his father and effectively hiding, trying desperately to not think of the many items he had hidden beneath his shirt that didn't belong to him, not that you could tell he had anything, just like always.

"_Hermes_," the King of the Gods growled, thunder rumbling ominously under his breath, and Hermes gave him a sharp grin, the baring of his teeth not nearly as friendly as it had been when he'd been challenging Harry earlier.

"What's up, Pops?" He asked, but Harry noticed the tension in his shoulders, how the heels of his shoes were faintly glowing and the air grew slightly tighter. Zeus' eyes narrowed further, the scent of ozone growing stronger and little flashes of static electricity dancing through his beard.

"Oh, calm down already," one of the Goddesses sighed, her blond hair the color of ripe wheat beneath a crown of what looked like corn leaves and poppies as she lounged in a throne made of curling oak inlaid with golden wheat on the base, the "branches" of the oak making up the back of the throne, with the leaves made of every color of the seasons curling over as the crest over her head. Her large brown eyes were peering over at Harry curiously; her pretty face interested as, with a graceful movement she was on her feet, her emerald dress swishing elegantly as her black cloak glided to the floor. As she walked across the room towards the two in the doorway, Harry could swear that he saw grass sprouting up whenever she took a step, only to wither away when her cloak swept over it. The Goddess stopped in front of Hermes, and bent down, her hands on her knees, as she smiled at Harry, kind and sweet, and Harry felt his ears turn bright red as he latched onto his Dad's shirt.

"Hello, little one," she greeted warmly; Harry nodded mutely, pressing closer to Hermes as he shyly peered at the Goddess. "My name is Demeter. What's yours?" Harry hesitated, glancing up at Hermes in question, only to scowl as he noticed the amuser grin his Dad was sporting at his situation. With a huff, Harry contemplated kicking him in the ankle, but decided against it, refocusing on the Goddess.

"My name's Harry, it's very nice to meet you, ma'am," he told her quietly, and flushed as Demeter beamed brightly him, faintly bewildered at the affectionate, loving smile.

"It's very nice to meet you too, Harry-dear!" She chirped, reaching forward and, in a quick movement that Harry never saw coming, she had him out from behind Hermes, and lifted up into her arms, twirling them around like he was a young child instead of an almost eleven-year-old. Harry squawked, eyes huge as he clung instinctively to her shoulders, breathing in the heavy scent of a rainstorm over a field of jasmine, a smell that had Harry unconsciously relaxing even as he found himself perched on her lap while she re-took her throne, a thick sandwich appearing on a plate in his own lap. The bread was wheat, with fruits and nuts imbedded in it, and inside it was slathered with healthy vegetables and vegetable-based condiments.

"You are _much_ too thin," Demeter announced with faint disapproval, stroking a hand gently through Harry's hair as her brown eyes glowed a brief golden color with power, and Harry briefly felt like he was being buried alive, before the power disappeared as she smiled sweetly at him. "Eat up, Harry-dear, while Zeus and your father talk, alright?" Harry blinked uncertainly, looking back towards the doorway, only to find his father and the God-King gone, while the remaining Gods and Goddesses were murmuring amongst themselves.

"Erm…" He hesitated, eying the large sandwich in his lap dubiously. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not really that hungry…" Demeter continued to smile sweetly at him, but there was _something_ about her that had Harry's stomach dropping and his eyes going wide with nervousness as she pet his head again.

"Yes you are, Harry-dear," she told him gently, opening her glowing, inhuman eyes, and Harry felt everything about himself fade away, locked in those gold eyes, watching as countless fields of grain and corn and barely grew and was plowed, as farmers spent their lives living off the land, as people starved from poor crops while others made millions…

And, suddenly, he was back in the throne room, blinking dazedly down at the empty plate in his lap, the taste of the sandwich coating his tongue as he blinked slowly. Feeling dizzy almost, Harry lifted his head to stare into the sweetly smiling Goddess' face, her eyes closed as she smiled.

"See, Harry-dear?" she asked, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "You were hungry after all, I told you!" she poked his nose gently with a soft laugh, and Harry swallowed, the sandwich sitting in his stomach felt like lead, and he wondered where his Dad had gone.

"Alright, that's enough," Hermes' voice announced as he seemingly appeared, as if Harry had summoned him, Zeus stalking into the room after him. "Time to get you home, kiddo, let's go," he said, eyes narrowed as he eyed Demeter, who gently helped Harry off her lap to the ground, patting his hair before he managed to hurry to his father's side, struggling not to run. As soon as he grasped his father's offered hand, the God pulled him close and, with a flare of silvery white light and the flutter of the wings on his shoes, they were gone, and, after he blinked the light from his eyes, Harry found himself inside of his Safe Haven back in Surrey.

"…Demeter is scary," Harry told his Dad, who smiled sympathetically and hugged the boy close.

"It's because she's an over-protective mama-bear," he told the almost eleven-year-old honestly. "Though, when she's not fussing, she's a complete air-head. Honestly, it's no wonder Uncle Hades managed to make off with her daughter when sometimes she forgets where she is." Hermes rolled his eyes, but beamed when Harry giggled at his antics. "Well, I have to leave now, Hun," he told the boy, reluctantly letting him go with a sigh. "It's Camp Visitation on Olympus tonight, and I've gotta help keep you half-siblings in line and make sure no one gets smite'd, okay? Love you, kiddo," he murmured, pulling Harry back in for another tight hug, kissing the scar on his forehead gently, pleased to note that the previously painful-looking mark was already paling. Harry threw his arms around his Dad and gripped tight, abruptly terrified out of his mind that he might never see this man again, and clung tightly to him. Hermes closed his eyes and tightened his own hold on the boy, breathing in his scent of heavy Demigod chocolate, his own marking of prairie dust, that faint hint of sulfur he was _positive_ belonged to Vulcan, the edgy, copper taste of Magic and the sharp taste of Luck's thyme.

They stood there silently, clinging tightly to one another for several minutes, before they reluctantly parted. Harry was embarrassed to find tears in his eyes, and scrubbed at them in irritation while Hermes just smiled that soft, loving smile that Harry knew was just for him and his half-siblings.

"Love you, Kiddo," Hermes murmured softly; Harry managed a watery smile back.

"Love you too, old man," he teased back, and Hermes chuckled, stroking a hand through Harry's wild hair, before disappearing with the flutter of wings and silvery light again. Harry let out a slow, shuddering breath, before scrubbing a hand over his face and determinedly turning to his nearest table, and beginning to pull his "prizes" from beneath his shirt.

Most of the things he'd stolen were little knickknacks and doo-dads. A tiny crystal statue of a three-headed snake from his father's room (taken when he was picking up his shoes, take _that_, God of Thieves!). A small dagger from his Uncle Ares room, which had a red-leather handle and an Imperial Gold blade. A couple handfuls of nails from Hephaestus, in a pretty turquoise-colored silk bag from Aphrodite. A fancy quill made of a white owls feather from Athena. A small, nicely painted plant pot from Demeter. A bag of really pretty sea-shells from Poseidon. A shiny silver crescent moon broach from Artemis, and a sun pendant from Apollo. An unused quilt from Hades room which was almost too big to hide under his shirt. A neat looking drinking chalice from Dionysus, and a weird looking satchel from Zeus's rooms…

Actually, the only one he hadn't stolen anything from was his Aunt Hestia, and that was because, not only did it _feel_ wrong even _thinking_ about stealing from the gentle Hearth Goddess, but his Dad had told him that, under no condition was there anything of hers that he would ever have to steal, when he could simply ask her if he _truly_ needed it.

Well, all that beside the point, he was immensely pleased with himself, and that he had been able to steal it all. He truly loved his strange ability of hiding anything under his shirt, and how none of it would fall out or show unless _he_ wanted it… This, apparently, included the last two of the Red Crème Soda's his Dad had given him before going to the Underworld. Happily opening one of the cans and taking a deep drink, before he made his way back to the Dursley's, Hogwarts letter in hand and a plan in mind. He would go to this school during the year, but the summers belonged to Camp Half-Blood… Unless it was truly horrible, in which case he would try to get to Camp Jupiter.

That night, as Harry slept soundly in his Cupboard, and the half-bloods of the Greek Gods were sleeping in the Throne Room of Olympus, the satchel stolen from Zeus, hidden in Harry's Luck-Hidden Haven, glowed brightly, flickers of lightning crackling out of it. Inside, a two-foot-long cylinder of Celestial Bronze, capped on both ends with what amounted to god-level explosives. As it sat, hidden within the darkness of its sheath, the Master Bolt was affectively "stolen", and its disappearance wouldn't be noticed by its owner until after the second Demigod Night on Olympus, during the Winter Solstice.

Harry slept on, completely unknowing about the can of worms he had just innocently opened.

**A/N:** Here, enjoy!

Also, I just realized just _how_ lucky I made Harry's Safe Haven.

It's house number _**7**_, which was made available when Harry was _**7**_, in 199_**7**_.

I did that on accident, and I am awesome.


	6. Chapter 5: Gringotts

**A/N:**

Just to clear something up:

Harry did NOT steal the Master Bolt.

He stole its _Sheath_, which, according to the Wikia, doesn't have an actual, known shape, but Ares turned it into a backpack with only a "little" tweaking, so I used artistic license to make it into a satchel which changes size according to whatever form its holder wears. Because Harry is a child, it turned into a child-sized satchel.

Now, the Master Bolt is spelled to always return to its sheath after a certain amount of time, like Percy's pen is charmed to return to his pocket.

So, Harry stole the Sheath, and the Master Bolt _returned_ to it later that night.

Also, I freaking _**love**_ how everyone is enjoying the "Harry is The Thief" thing I did! ^-^ I've yet to see anyone do it, so yay~!

Enjoy!

_**Metal Wings**_

_**Chapter Five**_

Harry absolutely _loved_ Hagrid. The massive man had shown up at the Dursley's home on his birthday (With _cake!_ For _Harry!_) to take him for his School Shopping, and Harry had loved the man since.

First, he takes Harry through "Muggle" London, where Harry used his large form and strange exclamations to pick-pocket nearly _everyone_ on the subway… And the side-walk.

Now, the massive man took him into a crowded pup, where _everyone_ crowded Harry to shake his hand and welcome him back, and, let him just tell you, it is _ridiculously easy_ to steal from a crowd of distracted, hyper people...

Though, he instinctively avoided taking anything but a neat pocket watch off of Quirrell. The weird man _was_ one of his teachers, and the last thing he wanted was to make the man suspicious of him.

Harry had to say, though, that the _best_ thing Hagrid had done for him, was take him to Gringotts Bank. And the poem-slash-challenge on the door?

Well, he _had_ to steal something _then_!

"So, let's say, hypothetically, that someone _does_ manage to steal something!" Harry called to the Goblin, Griphook, who was manning the amazingly fast cart the three of them were in, on their way to Hagrid's mysterious destination. "What would happen to them?"

"Hypothetically, hmm?" Griphook replied, baring his teeth in a needle-sharp grin. "Well, _hypothetically_, an successful thief who manages to steal something from Gringotts is usually brought in on to help up security against whatever they used, given a commission for helping locate a breach, and then, if their OWL's and NEWT's stand up to snuff, offered a job later in life. Of course, most thieves fail horribly and get sucked into the Vaults, especially the High Security Vaults, and are trapped until someone comes and checks them." Morbid curiosity had Harry leaning over the edge of the cart, ignoring Hagrid's green face and heavy swallowing.

"How often do you check?" the eleven-year-old called; Griphook's grin turned nasty.

"About every ten years." Harry whistled, and his stomach tightened in excitement as they reached Hagrid's secret destination: an almost completely-empty Vault with a single, brown-paper-wrapped object that had Harry's fingers _aching_. He didn't know what it was, and honestly didn't care, because he _knew_ that something held in a high-security Vault _by itself_, was something of _value_...

He _soooooo_ wanted to steal it, but he held himself back. It would be _too_ easy at the moment. He'd have to wait for the best moment...

Of course, he completely forgot about damn near _everything_ once they got to _his_ Vault.

He had never seen so much gold and shiny things in his _life_.

"And this is all mine?" Harry asked Griphook, eyes huge; the Goblin nodded.

"All three-hundred, seventy-nine thousand, six-hundred and eighty-two Galleons, seventy-four thousand, two-hundred and ninety-one Sickles, and nineteen thousand, eight-hundred and fifty-seven Knuts, as well as all precious jewels and artifacts within." Harry let his breath out shakily, and closed his eyes as he ran his fingers over the coins, listening to the tinkling for a few seconds, before his eyes shot open and turned, narrowed, on the Goblin.

"Has anyone had any sort of access to my things since the death of my parents?" He demanded; the Goblin narrowed his eyes, and, for a moment, his skin seemed darker, his shadow longer, and something animalistic and vicious flashed across his onyx-colored eyes.

"Your Magical Guardian," the Goblin replied, tone sharp with disapproval; Harry narrowed his own eyes, feeling the wings in his shoes (which felt almost like an adoring kitten curled around his ankles) shiver and "hiss" at his suspicion and wariness.

"Who is...?" Griphook's face darkened.

"You _should_ know, as you are, by Law, required to have spend a majority of your childhood within his presence, especially as the last Heir to the Potter Line and thus needing tutoring in how to care for and use your Inheritance," he growled; Harry shook his head.

"I didn't even know magic _existed_ until my Letter came," Harry told the Goblin, whose face shuttered into cold, green-toned marble, his onyx-colored eyes seeming somehow larger and deeper than before.

"Then I suggest you do not allow yourself to be alone with one Albus Dumbledore until such a time as Gringotts can insure that he has not stolen from you, and until we can insure you have a _proper_ Magical Guardian, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded curtly in agreement, and turned around, grabbing several handfuls of the three different coins and stuffing them into his stolen Satchel (Harry loved the pretty thing, more because, like his shirt, when something was placed in it, it essentially disappeared, and it made stealing things _so_ much easier, to the point where he honestly didn't _know_ exactly what he had in it anymore, as he wasn't in a hurry to check.). He grabbed Knuts and Sickles as much as Galleons, because he was of the firm opinion that you shouldn't break down a bigger bill (or coin in this case) unless you didn't have enough smaller bills/coins to meet the price. He also couldn't help but grab a few gems and bits of jewelry as well.

"Ready to go?" Griphook asked but, before Harry could respond, and alarm screeched through the air, and the Goblin's slowly-warming appearance once more turned to frigid stone as he hissed out a strange word, and glared at Harry. "Stay here. Someone has attempted to steal something from us." With that, the Goblin disappeared out the door and, ignoring Hagrid's blustering confusion from inside the cart, shot off with the giant man, leaving Harry all alone.

"..." A sly, mischievous grin curled across Harry's face, and he made his move, wings fluttering out of his shoes in excitement.

Twenty-two minutes later, when Griphook and the _very_ green Hagrid returned, they found Harry climbing up the massive piles of coins in his Vault and sliding back down with giddy laughter, cheeks flushed in what looked like joy but what was actually victory.

"Ready to go?" Griphook asked him mildly, a displeased twitch to his face that Harry instinctively knew had nothing to do with himself.

"Ready!" Harry chirped, and scrambled out of the Vault, unconsciously snitching his key from Hagrid after the large man slipped it into one of his many, _amazing_ pockets.

"Let's leave, then," the grumpy Goblin muttered, and the three of them were soon jetting through the darkness and returning to the Gringotts Entry Hall. "Gringotts will be contacting you with the information we spoke of before, Mr. Potter," Griphook grunted, and gave them an impatient look, before leaving them where they were.

"You can go ahead and take a break at the pub, if y'want, Hagrid," Harry offered kindly, taking in the still-green face of the tall man; Hagrid hesitated, so Harry continued. "I'm probably going to grab all my supplies quickly, and then spend some time browsing, and I don't want to waste your time, since you have such an important mission from the Headmaster to deal with, too," he reminded; Hagrid's face brightened and he "gently" patted the eleven-year-old on the shoulder, nearly sending the boy to his knees.

"There's a lad, 'Arry," the man said gruffly, before he quickly shuffled off. Harry felt his smile turn into one of his more frequent mischievous grins, before he turned and looked up at Gringotts.

For a split second, within the "O" of the word Gringotts, a symbol glimmered, a helm made of what looked like shadows, before it shimmered out of existence once more.

"Huh," Harry murmured, tilting his head as he squinted at the bank for a minute longer, then shook his head and turned to begin his shopping (and thieving) trip.

He hadn't known his Uncle Hades ran a bank...

Harry absently pulled his Satchel closer, the many different artifacts he'd stolen resting inside, and decided that, later on, he'd sacrifice that particularly ugly, disgusting-feeling yellow cup to the God. It felt familiar, and dark, so he was sure that Hades would, at least, enjoy the irony of such a bright, cheerful-colored cup having such nasty-feeling magic on it.

Humming, Harry walked onward.

He had shopping to do.

**A/N:** There you go, Another chapter!

(Yes, shorter, but I stated at the beginning that this one would be made of shorter chapters)

Goblins belong to Hades! He is the God of Riches and the King of the Underworld. Goblins adore riches and live underground.

Also: MWAHAHAHA HARRY STOLE THE HUFFLEPUFF HORCRUX, MWAHAHAHAHAHA

Review!


	7. Chapter 6: The Cup

**A/N:**

So, someone asked why Harry was so good at stealing, and, on a scale of 1 to 100 (1 being an average person, 50 being normal Hermes Demigods, and 100 being Hermes) where Harry was on the Thief Scale, and guessed they were 90 or more, and asked why I made Harry that way?

My response is this:

Harry is about a 90, yes, but that's not because of his Hermes attributes, but because of his Luck Blessing mixing in with his Hermes Attributes as well as his Vulcan Tributes and his Magic Blessing.

That's a lot of magic in one young boy, who has had to be self-sufficient, crafty, and street-smart a majority of his life in order to survive in the toxic environment that is the Dursley Household.

So, his Luck made him better at getting away or finding things, as well as giving him a Safe Haven to hide in. (Unfortunately giving him the bad luck of things like Harry Hunting, the Cupboard, lack of steady food, and other such things)

His Magic made it so that no doors could remain locked and helped him hide things. (Unfortunately also giving him obvious, attention-gathering bursts of Emotion-Fueled Accidental Magic and tiring him out extensively after each use)

His Hermes Attributes made it easier for him to steal things and find the things he could steal (Unfortunately also giving him a compulsion to steal and an inability to NOT steal, as well as the unfortunate habit of not even _knowing_ when he's stolen something, and making him ignore danger signs when something's _really_ caught his eye. (Fatal Demigod Flaw))

His Vulcan Attributes made it easier for him to spot important, practical things he could use, and identify the best way to use them. (Unfortunately giving him a compulsory _need_ to make or fix things when he found them or was alone with them, though he fortunately would not be disturbed _during_ the process, afterwards he was free game)

So, as you can see, he's not a 90 _just because_ of his Hermes Kid Status.

Enjoy the chapter! ^-^

_**Metal Wings**_

**Chapter Six**

Harry had expected, _maybe_, a bit of flare and dramatic fire when he sacrificed that ugly yellow cup to his Uncle Hades in the safety of his Safe Haven.

He hadn't expected a huge Earthquake to shake the entire UK, and for his Uncle to rise up out of the ground, platinum eyes glowing with rage out of a marble face, the baying of his massive Cerberus echoing out of his footsteps as he stalked towards the wide-eyed, cowering Harry, who was praying desperately that his Uncle didn't let him be buried alive by the ominously shaking Haven.

"_Where_," Hades began, his Godly Voice making Harry cry out and crumble to his knee's, like an eroded mountain top crumbles during a quake. _"Did you get that cup?!"_

"The Bank!" Harry wailed, clutching at his head and shrinking down as small as he could, choking as his head _screamed._ "Gringotts! Stole it! Sorry, Uncle!" He cried, curling up tightly, even as the world suddenly went unnaturally still, as if it was holding his breath, the only sound in the Haven Harry's gasping sobs as he remained curled tightly on the ground.

As the pain in his head was finally beginning to quiet down, a low, rumbling chuckle began, and Harry slowly, weakly, lifted his aching head, face smeared with soot from his Haven, and tears from his terrified pain, to stare blurrily at his soon guffawing Uncle. He was quickly mesmerized, as Hades previously frigid, rigged, and stand-offish appearance warmed with delighted hilarity. His platinum eyes glowed warmly, his marble-cold face warmed like well-polished copper, and the Earth seemed to sigh and relax from its previous tension. Slowly, sniffling uncertainly, Harry sat up, using his dirty, over-large shirt to wipe his face off as Hades' laughter calmed into chuckles, glowing eyes returning to his normal slate-gray, and the shadows that had encompassed him, returned to his punk attired, silver chains tinkling merrily as he summoned a black, throne-like chain out of the Shadows and perched in it, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to smirk at Harry in honest amusement.

"Tell me, Great Nephew," he coaxed, waving his hand and impatiently urging Harry back to his feet, which Harry obeyed, sniffling still. "Do you know what that cup was?" Wiping his nose, Harry shook his head, and Hades impatiently summoned the eleven-year-olds chair over, all but knocking the startled boy into sitting, with a yelp, before the wheelie chair abruptly zoomed over to stop in front of Hades, who leaned forward into Harry's face ominously, but still smiling, and Harry swallowed heavily, eyes huge.

"It was another piece of Tom Marvolo Riddle, little Demigod," the God breathed into Harry's face, his breath smelling like freshly turned earth and the copper of pennies. "And I want you to tell me, _exactly_, where you found it, hmm?" He leaned in closer and, staring into those slate-gray eyes, which were beginning to grow lighter ominously despite the still smiling face that held them, Harry shakily obeyed, pressing back into his chair fearfully.

Quickly, he told his Uncle of his trip to Gringotts, the break-in, being left alone, and his quick "exploration" of all nearby Vaults, thanks to the handiness of his flying shoes. Hades listened keenly, smiling still even as the glow in his eyes slowly returned to normal, and, when Harry was awkwardly finished, the God sat back in his chair and chuckled again.

"I have _never_ had such an interesting relative out of my Nephew," the God told him, highly amused.

"Thanks...?" Harry offered uncertainly; Hades chucked and patted him on the cheek roughly, before, with a sudden, odd expression, like he was about to sneeze, Hades _changed_.

His face became clean-shaven, his hair morphing into a military cut, with the hair on top spiking despite its almost greasy appearance. His outfit transformed into a sleek black suit with a tombstone-gray undershirt, a black and platinum tie resting on his chest. His slate-gray eyes turned into a charcoal-grey, and his features sharpened even as they rounded slightly. His mouth set in a stern line, the God sat back, spine straight even as he rested his right ankle on his left knee and set his calmly folded hands on his right thigh.

"..." The newly-transformed God stared at Harry shrewdly for several minutes, and Harry felt himself go very still, shoulders straightening under that considering look, and met his stare head on in challenge, still nervous despite narrowing his bright green eyes in return.

"Greetings, Son of Mercury's Other Aspect," the man greeted coolly, voice deeper than Hades had been, reminding Harry of the steady, vibrating beat of army boots meeting the ground.

"Um... Greetings, Uncle Hade's... Other... Aspect?" Harry managed, utterly flummoxed, and blinked as the strange God's lips twitched up faintly for a millisecond.

"Pluto," He replied, charcoal-grey eyes narrowing faintly as he looked over Harry's appearance. "You are a Potter, correct?" He asked; Harry blinked uncertainly, and nodded.

"The last of them, um, Lord Pluto," Harry informed him uncertainly; Lord Pluto hummed, and rose from his seat, causing Harry to immediately stand as well, his hands going behind his back without thought as he stood tall and straight, eyes widening slightly at the instinctive, thoughtless movement. Lord Pluto hummed again, this time in a mildly-pleased way as those dark eyes regarded Harry for a second, before he turned away, his own hands sliding behind his back to clasp as he turned and stalked gracefully towards Harry's work table, to peer at and examine the eleven-year-olds many projects and experiments. He examined the lights, the do-dads and pieces of stolen electronics that Harry was turning into other things, and nodded faintly to himself.

"You are all that remains of my Nephew's Demigod son, Charlus Potter," Pluto informed Harry, who hadn't been able to force himself to move quite yet, stuck standing straight and stiff in front of his chair. The God picked up the small crystal statue of the three-headed snake Harry had stolen from his Dad, admiring it closely, before carefully setting it down. "He was rather pleased with Charlus, but his son, James, _your_ Father, left my Nephew rather... _Disappointed_." Pluto turned and stalked back over to Harry, circling him with a sharp, considering eye, and Harry found himself nearly desperate to not disappoint _this_ God. Pluto hummed, standing in front of Harry, all but towering over the eleven-year-old with an aloof, stern expression. With a hum, Pluto gracefully re-took his seat, but Harry remained standing, something in his head telling him he didn't have permission to sit yet, and so he got to see that faint, upward twitch of the God's lips again, and those eyes gleam with mild approval.

"I do believe, Great Nephew," the God commented calmly, leaning back with an air of approval, "that he would be pleased with _you_. I shall see that he is made aware of you and your... _Situation_," he murmured, eying the soot-blackened wood around them with mild distaste, before glancing at Harry once more. "At ease, Great Nephew," he ordered before, with another about-to-sneeze-expression, he transformed back into Hades, who huffed as he slouched in the chair with a faint pout, but Harry felt himself fully relax, letting out a relieved breath as he fell back into his chair.

"I hate it when he does that," Hades muttered, before shaking his head and standing, his shadow-throne dissolving neatly as the God tugged his punk-attire back into order, chains tinkling with what seemed like frustrated resignation, before those familiar slate-grey eyes glared faintly at Harry, who blinked up at the God tiredly, honestly exhausted from so many emotional upheavals of the day. "Well, it was a nice visit, Great Nephew," Hades drawled, scoffing faintly before, with a nonchalant wave of his hand, he disappeared back to the Underworld, sinking into the shadows dramatically...

Along with every spot of soot in the entire room.

"Wow," Harry muttered, eyes wide as he looked around at the much brighter room with wonder, before shaking his head and pushing his wheelie chair back over to his desk, pulling his stolen Satchel out from under it, and digging inside, pulling out random bits and bobs he'd stolen on his two trips through London, and pulling the "Broken" mixer from Number Two and the cracked cellphone from Number Eight close, so he could begin trying to make a voice-activated mixer, which he'd try to incorporate for potions (Why should he have to watch a potion that needed to be stirred specifically every so often, when he could pre-set something to do it for him?).

As he got to work, he pushed the fact that the Gods had MPD from his mind, and focused on his project.

**A/N:** Short, yes, no cares to give.

Also, this is how I always pictured the Gods and their Aspects, as a form of Multiple Personality Disorder (Yes, I know the politically correct diagnosis is DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) but I don't care)

Special Apologies/Thanks to Reviewer _**ElectraX12**_ about the misspelled/missused Greek. I have to use Google Translate, so my bad!

^-^'

Heh heh...

Review!


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